


Pushed Around

by TheAsexualofSpades



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin is a Little Shit (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Knights (Merlin), can be platonic or romantic you decide, no beta we die like uther fucking should have, please bb take care of yourself you're scaring the knights, way earlier and with much less dignity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29623167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: The problem with Merlin is that he doesn’t say nearly enough for all the talking he does. Honestly, the man can ramble on for hours and hours without being interrupted and never say one word about himself. He’s spoken about how Arthur sits wrong for longer than a council meeting for goodness’ sake. And yet in all that time, he’s never said a single thing about himself.It would be impressive if it didn’t get them into nearly so many stressful situations that could’ve been avoided had he asked for help.
Relationships: Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 497





	Pushed Around

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the ask! i do love this trope to death

**Prompt:** i looooooove you protective knights Merlin drabbles from over quarantine, the frantic energy of these large children fretting over Merlin is hilarious and so precious (': would you ever write your take on the classic "a visiting knight/noble is a dickwad to Merlin but he doesn't tell anyone bc of either worries of diplomacy or something else and then when Arthur and the knights do find out they have to have a serious chat w Merlin about his priorities and self-worth?" bc,,, it would be awesome

* * *

The problem with Merlin is that he doesn’t say nearly enough for all the talking he does. Honestly, the man can ramble on for hours and hours without being interrupted and never say one word about himself. He’s spoken about how Arthur _sits_ wrong for longer than a council meeting for goodness’ sake. And yet in all that time, he’s never said a single thing about himself.

It would be impressive if it didn’t get them into nearly so many stressful situations that could’ve been avoided _had he asked for help._

In fairness to Merlin, servants asking for help from anyone other than fellow servants isn’t exactly normal. In _unfairness_ to Merlin, when has ‘normal’ ever been very high on his list of things to strive for?

They’ve all gotten fairly used to it. Merlin will be doing something and one of them will notice that perhaps there’s a…better way to do that. Or perhaps he’s doing it with a little less skill or proficiency than he normally does and gods, Merlin, how long have you been hurt for? Merlin will shrug and smile sheepishly at them and say that it’s nothing to worry about. Only Gaius seems to be immune to that, raising the Eyebrow of Disappointment and Merlin will bow his head and let him tend to whatever he’s done to himself this time. The problem is Merlin seems to _know_ this and does all he can to avoid doing these things in front of Gaius. Which leaves the rest of them to struggle frantically to keep track of Merlin while he’s frantically keeping track of them.

But they’ve gotten used to it.

Arthur is allowed to be an absolute prat—Merlin’s words, not his—in the mornings, insisting Merlin do all sorts of ridiculously elaborate chores to assess whether he’s hurt himself, whether something’s wrong, or whether he’s done something to upset Merlin more than tossing the occasional boot at him. If Merlin doesn’t snipe back or calls him ‘sire’ unironically, something is definitely wrong and everything is on pause until they fix it. No exceptions.

Leon, as the closest thing to Arthur’s right hand aside from Merlin, takes every opportunity to stand next to him, regardless of how proper it is. Leon may not be immune to Merlin’s impish little excuses, but Merlin is not immune to the protective-older-sibling looks Leon gives him or the gentle way Leon arranges his cape so that Merlin looks even more inconspicuous behind the copious amounts of red fabric. Leon never says a word, and Merlin would never admit it, but there are times when, if you looked at them from behind, you would see Merlin reach out to clutch Leon’s cape and Leon reach to hold his hand.

Percival is not a small man. Anyone standing opposite him better think very carefully about whatever they’re about to fight over. Odds are it won’t be worth it. Often all he has to do is stand up and they’re babbling apologies or excuses. Merlin, on the other hand, is a slight man who looks as if he’s always about two seconds from tripping over his own feet. Percival makes sure to stand in _front_ of him.

Elyan has a way with words. Not that he’s the most loquacious speaker, nor the most forceful, but he’s got a voice that makes people _listen._ It’s not Arthur’s authority, nor it is Uther’s unmistakable iron, but it is a quiet power. Oftentimes, people don’t seem to respect Merlin. Some go so far as to refuse to remember his name. Elyan’s never had a problem making them see reason.

Gwaine is not known for being discreet, nor is he especially reserved in demonstrating that he’s here for _Merlin,_ not for Camelot, not for Arthur, but for Merlin. Sometimes Merlin just needs a little reminder that _he’s_ worth fighting for, and not just because he’s fighting for something bigger than himself.

Lancelot is the only one that can actually get Merlin to talk, reliably. The man can see through Merlin’s nonsense in a way that rivals Gaius. Unlike Gaius, Merlin won’t fight him on it. It’s difficult to get Lancelot to _tell_ the rest of them, despite what he’ll have you believe. But if Merlin looks a little happier afterward, then it’s all fine.

So yeah, they’ve gotten used to it. What they _haven’t_ gotten used to are the people that go out of their way to make life for Merlin harder.

“There’s _another_ tournament?” Merlin huffs as he throws the blanket over Arthur’s bed. “Didn’t you _just_ have one?”

“That was a joust. This is a melee.”

“You’re all throwing yourselves at each other with various pieces of metal,” Merlin remarks dryly, “what’s the difference?”

Arthur rolls his eyes as he gets up, glancing out the window to see the approaching knights. There aren’t nearly as many as the last tournament, thank goodness, but that does mean that this one won’t be nearly as easily decided.

“As long as I’m not cleaning up after all of you this time…”

Arthur frowns, looking back at Merlin straightening the bed covers. “What do you mean?”

“Last time. I was working non-stop. Had another knight almost as demanding as you are.”

“ _I’m_ allowed to be demanding,” Arthur says, “you’re _my_ servant.”

“Mhmm, sure.”

“No one else is.”

“You tell them that, sire.”

“I will. Who was it?”

Merlin shrugs. “Don’t really remember his name.”

Arthur sighs, walking forward and resting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Yes, you do. That’s what you say when you don’t want to tell me someone’s name.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Arthur says softly, turning Merlin to face him, “so you can tell me.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Sure it is.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

“ _Merlin,_ ” Arthur huffs, “if something is wrong, you know you can tell me.”

“But nothing’s wrong!” Arthur just gives him a look until he sighs, picking up the laundry basket. “Alright, fine, his name was Tobias, are you happy now?”

“Yes, I am, thank you.” Arthur gives his shoulder another pat before moving away. “The next time he’s here, I’ll make sure you’re nowhere near him.”

As it turns out, that doesn’t go as planned. Because Sir Tobias didn’t just sign up for the joust, he’s here for the melee too.

“Arthur Pendragon,” the man roars, clapping Arthur firmly on the shoulder, “thought you’d seen the last of me, eh?”

  
“Thought that bruised backside you got from falling off your horse would’ve kept you away.”

Tobias throws his head back and laughs. “You’ve got spirit about you, lad. It’ll serve you well if you can hold your nerve.”

“My nerve has never failed me before,” Arthur replies cooly, gesturing up the stairs, “though I’m sure you know that by now.”

“We’ll see come the melee.”

Merlin is out of sight, helping the stablehands tend to the horses. As Arthur walks up the stairs, he sees Tobias glance around and huff softly to himself.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, no,” Tobias says quickly as they enter the hall, “just glad to see you’ve not assigned me the same servant this time.”

Arthur straightens. “Excuse me?”

“The gangly boy that tended to my chambers last time,” Tobias says, waving his hand, “right awful he was. Glad you’ve fired him.”

“I see…”

Arthur does not, in fact, see, but he makes a point to tell the knights not to let Tobias near Merlin.

As it turns out, they don’t have much of a choice. Arthur needs Merlin to help him get ready, and Tobias is of high enough rank to be near the prince as he does so. Luckily for Merlin, he just has to stay inside the tent.

Unluckily for Merlin…

“Arthur,” Gwaine calls from outside, “they need you to come look at the shields.”

Arthur gives Merlin’s arm a squeeze and steps away, ducking out of the tent. Gwaine leads him over to a table laden with shields, each with a different insignia painted on it. The Pendragon crest gleams in the light, next to the sigils from each of the other knights fighting. None of them has so much as a scratch.

“Very good, sire,” the attendant says, sweeping them along to finish the final preparations. Arthur follows Gwaine up the hill to where the others are standing, Leon turning and nodding solemnly ate his approach.

“Are all of you competing, then?” Arthur leans against the wall.

Leon shakes his head. “Lancelot and I will be sitting this one out.”

“Not growing weary are you, old friend?”

“Weary of people attempting to kill you while I’m already engaged in combat,” Leon replies wryly, “and weary of _Merlin_ being the only one able to do anything about it.”

“They won’t listen to _him_ when he calls for a stop to the tourney,” Lancelot adds.

“And so you can keep anyone away from him,” Gwaine says firmly.

“Precisely.”

They head back down the hill, just in time to see a flutter of movement from Arthur’s tent. Gwaine frowns, rushing forward and throwing it open.

“Merlin?”

“I’m here,” Merlin says, getting to his feet, “just fell.”

Arthur rolls his eyes fondly and reaches down to help him up. “At some point, Merlin, I do have to wonder.”

“It’s fine, I just picked up something without realizing it was attached to something else.”

“I see.”

The rest of the knights glance at each other over Arthur’s shoulder and Elyan stalks off toward a neighboring tent. Leon bows deeply and tells Merlin that he and Lancelot will wait for the others to finish their training before coming to collect him.

“There’s still a few more days to go,” Merlin says softly, “I don’t see why you all had to come here so early.”

“It’s to make it fair, give the knights the chance to get used to fighting in the same place.”

Merlin grumbles to himself as he goes about finishing up. Arthur catches him gently by the elbow as he turns to leave.

“Are you alright? Really?”

“Arthur, I’m _fine._ It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Arthur sighs. “I would really like for _one_ of these to go off _normally_ for once.”

Arthur does not, in fact, get what he wants.

Not that anyone is particularly _surprised_ that there’s a knight who managed to sneak a poisoned weapon into the training grounds, but someone clips Arthur through his armor and he winces, immediately aware that something’s wrong. Merlin spots it a mile away, because of course he does. The knight is quickly escorted away and Arthur shakes his head, calling for a search of _all_ the knights’ belongings and weapons.

“You’d think we’d get better about this,” Lancelot mutters as he and Merlin approach, Merlin rubbing his shoulder, “and that they’d stop trying.”

“At least we caught it before the actual melee.”

“Merlin, there you are,” Gwaine says, pulling Merlin to his side, “good. Now, you and I are going to have a _talk._ ”

“About what?” Arthur looks around. “What’s going on?”

Lancelot just mouths that they’ll be back as Gwaine sweeps them both along the corridor. Arthur brushes it to the back of his mind. That’s not the first time they’ve done something like this.

It’s the night before the melee. Merlin is late. Arthur paces up and down the length of his quarters. The knights have all vanished hours ago. Merlin is late.

A knock.

“Enter.”

Leon sweeps inside, a stony look on his face. He glances around the quarters and bites back a curse. “Merlin’s not here, is he?”

“No,” Arthur says, his blood beginning to run cold, “no, he isn’t. Where is he?”

  
“Gwaine and Lancelot are already looking,” Leon says, shutting the door, “but…sire, may I ask a question?”

“Always,” Arthur says immediately, “you don’t need to ask.”

“How long has Tobias been…allowed near Merlin?”

“He hasn’t,” Arthur growls, hustling down the corridor, “but what has he done?”

“He was more brazen during the joust.” Leon shoulders a door open. “But now—“

“Merlin!”

Arthur rushes forward as Merlin turns the corner. Startled, Merlin barely has time to turn all the way before Arthur’s wrapping him up in a protective arm and turning him back toward the safety of Arthur’s chambers.

“Where were you?”

“I was, um…”

Arthur bites back a curse and hurries faster, Leon hot on their heels. Along the way, they come across Elyan and Percival, coming up from the armory.

“Arthur, we need to—“ Elyan breaks off when he sees Merlin in Arthur’s arms. “Merlin?”

“My chambers,” Arthur growls, “ _now.”_

“What about Gwaine and Lancelot?”

“They’ll find us.”

“Guys, whatever this is, it’s _fine,_ ” Merlin tries but Arthur simply opens the door to his quarters and sits Merlin down. “Really!”

“Merlin,” Leon says quietly, “where were you just now?”

Merlin glances at Arthur. Then back to Leon. “Helping Amelia.”

“And who were you helping Amelia help?”

Another glance at Arthur. Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Merlin,” he says slowly, “I need you to answer me honestly, please.”

Merlin nods, evidently a little taken aback at how soft Arthur’s voice is.

“Were you helping Amelia because she _asked_ for your help, or were you helping her so Tobias would get angry with _you_ instead of _her?_ ”

The silence that fills the room is more than enough of an answer.

“I’m going to kill him,” Gwaine announces, kicking open the door, “now where’s— _there_ you are.”

“Gwaine, I—ah!”

“Don’t break him,” Lancelot chides gently as Gwaine sweeps Merlin into a hug, “he’s probably still hurt.”

“ _Hurt?_ ” Arthur looks from Lancelot to Merlin. “Merlin—“

“It’s _fine._ ”

“Can you allow us to be the judge of that,” Leon asks, settling a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder and moving him away, “please?”

“It’s just a few bruises, he doesn’t even hit that hard.”

“Not exactly helping your case here,” Gwaine snarls, stalking toward Arthur.

“Merlin.”

“…why’re you guys so upset?”

Arthur winces. Merlin looks back and forth between them.

“No…really, I don’t—I don’t understand. _You_ lot hit me.”

“ _Not like that!_ ”

“It’s fine, I don’t—“

“This isn’t _fine,_ Merlin, you’re being _hurt._ ”

“So?”

The room falls silent. Leon draws back as if Merlin reached out to smack him across the face. Percival bows his head as Elyan bites back a curse. Lancelot stares at Merlin like he’s grown a second head. Gwaine looks at Arthur.

Arthur’s chest clenches so painfully he fears he’s going to have to send for Gaius. Merlin…Merlin doesn’t believe that he’s worth worrying about when he’s hurt? Merlin doesn’t _care_ that he’s getting hurt? Merlin is _letting_ someone hurt him?

“Merlin…”

“What?” He looks around at all of them in confusion. “What it is? Why do you all look so…so…”

“Upset?” Leon tilts his head. “Because you just told us you don’t think you’re important.”

“But…this isn’t that big of a deal. It happens all the time. Why is this time any different.”

“How often,” Lancelot says, “would you say this happens then?”

“Every time there’s a tournament.”

“Every tournament,” Leon repeats quietly, “there is a knight that does this?”

“Sometimes more than one.”

“And you…let them?”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

No.

No, no, no, this isn’t right.

This isn’t right.

Merlin is the man who waltzed right up to Arthur on his first day in Camelot and told him to stop being a prat.

Merlin is the man who spat in Uther’s face as often as he could.

Merlin is the man who demanded that everyone is treated as a person, be they servant or noble or royal.

This is wrong.

“Merlin,” Arthur manages, “Merlin, of _course_ you have a choice.”

“If I don’t do it, they’ll hurt someone else. And I’m used to it.”

“But you never should’ve _gotten_ used to it,” Arthur cries, rushing forward and grabbing Merlin’s shoulders, “damnit, Merlin, why don’t you protect yourself?”

“I’m _fine,_ Arthur.”

“You’re letting yourself get pushed around and _beaten_ by someone, you’re not _fine._ ”

“I have to put up with _you,_ don’t I?”

Arthur _burns._

Something in his chest squeezes so tight it breaks. He takes his hands off of Merlin like he’s been stung, backing up until he hits the poster of his bed. His mouth is open in shock and he can scarcely draw breath.

Merlin thinks…Merlin…did _he_ do this to Merlin?

“I don’t understand why this is such a big deal,” Merlin is saying far, far away, “it’s not like I’m not…why’re you all looking at me like that?”

No, no, Merlin is Arthur’s Merlin, he—he’d never hurt his Merlin, he’d never—no, he hasn’t—but— _Merlin—_

“Arthur, are you—are you _crying?_ ”

This is Arthur’s fault. This is Arthur’s fault, isn’t it, he’s messed this up, he’s messed _Merlin_ up, he’s ruined it—he’s ruined _everything._

“Sire,” comes Leon’s—is that Leon’s?—voice from somewhere to his left, “you have to breathe, come on…”

Arthur _gasps,_ the air burning the inside of his throat. He does it again, frantically blinking to clear his eyes. Tears stream down his cheeks—so he did start crying—as the image of Lancelot and Gwaine talking to Merlin swims into view in front of him. Merlin’s brow is furrowed and he keeps shooting concerned looks Arthur’s way.

“I never meant—“ Arthur swallows— “I never meant to hurt him. I didn’t—I never meant any of them, I—“

“Shh, sire,” Leon murmurs, “we know. Nothing is simple right now.”

“But that’s not what Arthur does,” Merlin protests, “he—is _that_ why you guys are so worried?”

Merlin turns and flies at Arthur, hands immediately coming up to cup his cheeks and numb away his tears, muttering all the while.

“That’s not what I meant, Arthur,” he babbles, “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—you’re _not_ like them, I just—that’s what I’m used to, I didn’t know that there was a difference—“

“I never meant to hurt you, Merlin,” Arthur says, gripping Merlin’s arms tightly, “I just—you _must_ believe me—“

“I do, I do—“ now _Merlin’s_ crying too— “I just—“

“Alright, you two,” Leon hushes, gently laying a hand on both of their shoulders, “let’s have you two sit before you fall over.”

The knight guides them both to the bed, sitting them on the edge. They’re no help; they’re too busy crying and clinging onto each other.

“Now, why don’t you two have a chat, and we’ll be outside.” Leon ruffles their hair affectionately and sweeps the others out into the corridor despite Gwaine’s protests.

Arthur swallows. “I never meant to hurt you, Merlin,” he mumbles, “nor do I believe that you’re—a fool or an idiot or stupid or anything.”

He clutches Merlin tightly. “You’re important to me.”

Merlin nods. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you lot, it’s just…that was how the older boys in Ealdor treated me. I got used to it. And it always made sense.”

Arthur shakes his head furiously. “It doesn’t make sense, Merlin. They were hurting you. People _are_ hurting you. That’s not alright. That’s awful. And I’m going to stop it.”

“You can’t just fight all the nobles who don’t like me.”

“Watch me.”

“Your father will—“

“To _hell_ with that,” Arthur snarls, “they’re _hurting_ you. And I won’t stand for it.”

Merlin sighs, slumping forward. Without a thought, Arthur catches him, pulling him closer and tucking his head over Merlin’s.

“…you really would fight them for me?”

“Yes, Merlin. I would. And I will.”

He feels Merlin grin against his shoulder. “You’re going to make Tobias never come back to Camelot, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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